


the lonely shadow dances from the cradle to the grave [larry au]

by foryoureyesonlylarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Endgame Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Established Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Flashbacks, Harry Styles Loves Louis Tomlinson, Healing, Larry Stylinson Is Real, M/M, References to Depression, Therapy, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:41:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24203002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foryoureyesonlylarry/pseuds/foryoureyesonlylarry
Summary: the lonely shadow dances from the cradle to the graveorthe one where Harry and Louis’ breakup caused the band to break up and, five years later in 2020, a struggling Harry meets a magical therapist who sends him back in time to relive parts of his past that he regrets and wishes he could do the right way.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for taking the time to read this fic. I hope you enjoy if as much as I am enjoying writing it. This Larry fic is based on a Canadian tv show called "Being Erica", where a young woman travels back in time to fix her past regrets. 
> 
> While I take a lot of inspiration from the show, all the writing is mine. All the characters depicted in this are just that, characters. While some are based on real-life people, this story is completely fictional and does not speak to the way the real people are. Additionally, while this story is based in a universe where One Direction and all its members exist, many people, events and other things have been changed to fit the story. Thus, there will be some facts that differ from reality.
> 
> Thank you again for giving my writing a chance, and please feel free to comment and give me any feedback you so wish to.
> 
> All the love,  
> x

It was 2013, and the screaming bounces around the stadium and out into the chilly open air. A tech hands Harry his mic and gives him a thumbs up. Harry smiles back warmly and adjusts his in-ears until someone grabs his shoulder and spins him around. 

And there was Louis grinning at him with stars in his eyes. “Group hug before we go on.” Louis gently pulls Harry over to where Niall and Liam are standing and smushes all four boys together. 

The thrill of the show, the performance, the spectacle. It was the best thing Harry had ever been a part of. Forget the interviews, the long hours spent in the studio, even the music itself. The best part about Harry’s job was connecting with the fans. The pure bliss he felt knowing there were people in the world that saw him as someone worthy enough to support, even idolize - it was enthralling.

“Time to go!” the same tech that gave Harry his mic shouts. It wasn’t that he was shouting to hurry the boys along, but because the deafening fans made it so he had to shout.

For a moment, the screaming quiets. Just in time, in fact, for the lights to drop. Then it only gets louder, probably, no, definitely, breaking the sound barrier. The fans, they were ready for the best night of their lives. 

Then it was time for the boys to go on--------

_ Beep! Beep! Beep! _

The dream magically swirling around in Harry’s mind jolted to an end as his alarm clock took the place of the screaming fans. He groaned and propped himself up with his elbows. “Five more minutes, Mom.” His mom was currently on the other side of the world.

He grabbed his phone, turning off the alarm and unlocking it to check his texts. Nothing.

A quick walk to the kitchen and a swig of whiskey later, Harry sluggishly sat on his balcony squinting out at the sun rising above the trees. He inhaled deeply, then picked up the whiskey bottle again. He could hear Liam telling him to stop day drinking. But does it really count as day drinking if it’s 6 in the morning? And besides, it’s five o’clock in the evening somewhere.

You might be asking yourself, why in the world is Harry drinking in the morning. Hell, why is he up so early in the first place when he doesn’t seem to be so inclined to be? The answer: today was Harry’s first day of therapy. 

The first therapist Harry ever had was back when One Direction was just reaching the peak of their fame. He knew he needed someone impartial to talk about the perils of fame and the pressures the public and his management put on him. But that therapist ended almost as swiftly as the band did in 2015. 

Now it’s 2020, and things have just continued going downhill for Harry. While his bandmates Niall, Liam and Louis had all been leading successful solo careers and had lives worth being jealous about, Harry was, well...surviving. Yes, that’s a good way of putting it.

What the public saw was a band, whose members were like brothers, deciding on a mutual pause so they could rest and venture into solo projects, as all four of them were tired of the cyclical album-tour pattern that left literally no time for rest and recuperation. That was what their intentions were too. But then,  _ it  _ happened. The fight was the nastiest fight any of them had ever seen. While punches weren’t thrown, the vicious words that  _ were  _ hurt more than a thousand hits to the jaw. It was at that moment that all of them knew it would never be the same. Louis swore he would never speak to Harry again. He blamed Harry for everything. The man Harry was hopelessly and endlessly in love with, whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, the soul unto which he bore his own to, thought the worst of him, and Harry couldn’t bear that.

Since the explosive fight, Liam and Niall had tried their best to stay in touch with Harry, though he often ignored their calls and messages. Thinking of them only made him think of Louis. They tried their best, but it was hard when Harry wouldn’t cooperate. When Louis’s mother passed away, then his younger sister, Harry called Louis dozens of times. No answer. He even went to Louis' house once and was turned away at the door by security. It was clear that even in Louis’ darkest moments he no longer wanted Harry.

Harry hailed a taxi to his new therapist’s office, and, as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, he peered up at the building. It was crammed between two other buildings, similar in color and design, but there was something different about it, almost like it was glowing, if that’s even possible for a building to do. Harry brushed it off, it’s just the reflection of the sun, he thought.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked Harry.

“Uh, yes. I have an appointment with, um, Dr. Rothchild?”

“She is ready for you in her office. Third door on the left.”

Dr. Rothchild’s office was exactly what you would expect a therapist’s office to look like. Bookshelves lined three of the walls, and the fourth wall had a fireplace and massive portraits of various poets, sociologists and, of course, Sigmund Freud. The doctor’s desk was placed in front of the fireplace and behind it sat the doctor herself. Even though she was a middle-aged woman with a smooth face and kind eyes, her hair was grey and hastily pulled back in a low bun. 

“Ah,” she smiled warmly. “Please have a seat.”

He complied and sat in the reclining seat in front of her desk.

“Curiosity does no less than devotion, pilgrims make,” she said as Harry got comfortable.

He stared at her blankly.

“Abraham Cowley said that. My point is, you must be wondering how this arrangement will work. I have to warn you, this won’t be the lie down, close your eyes type of therapy that you have experienced in the past.”

So she knew he had a therapist in the past, Harry thought.

“My therapy is not traditional.”

Speaking for the first time, Harry asked, “What does that mean?”

Dr. Rothchild smiled. “Your friend Mitch pushed you to find a therapist because he knew you are unhappy with your life, correct?”

Harry nodded tentatively, cursing Mitch for the gazillionth time for making him do this.

“But you are here. He merely suggested you find a therapist. You’re the one who made the choice to be here, even if it seemed like you didn’t have a choice.”

Once again, she was right. Although Harry was mainly doing this because Mitch scared him a little. Don’t tell anyone though.

“Whatever you aren’t happy about in your life, your past,” Dr. Rothchild said as she leaned forward, “I can help you fix it.”

“What does that mean?” Harry asked, but the doctor ignored him and continued, “All you have to do is say yes.” 

“I’m confused. What will our sessions be like?” 

“You don’t have to worry about that. All I need to know right now is...are you in or out?” Dr. Rothchild asked, one eyebrow raised as she waited for an answer.

Harry pondered that question. He could very well get up and leave right now, leave Dr. Rothchild’s office and go on with his...sad...life. Okay, maybe not. Maybe this could help. Or at the very least it wouldn’t hurt. Maybe talking about Louis and the band and everything with a professional could help a teeeeny, tiny bit. But what did Dr. Rothchild mean when she said she could “fix” everything. Did she mean she could help him come to terms with the past? Surely she didn’t mix up her words, though. The doctor was the kind of person who meticulously spoke, always choosing her next words carefully. The only way to find out what she meant was to say…

“Yes,” Harry blurted out. “Yes, I’m in.”

Dr. Rothchild smiled and leaned back into her chair. “Very well then. Would you like a glass of water?”

Harry swallowed before nodding. She poured him a glass out of a pitcher resting on her desk. He gulped it all down in two seconds.

“So now tell me,” she began. “Why are you here?”

Harry half-scoffed, half-chucked. “You know why. I’m here because my friend Mit-”

“No, why are you  _ really  _ here,” she interrupted.

Harry paused. “I...I guess...It’s just that...Well...I just keep thinking that things weren’t supposed to end up like this. Like how did I end up a washed up former boyband member with no future? How did I end up crying myself to sleep drunk every night then waking up and drinking some more in the morning? I always knew One Direction would end eventually, but I always assumed I would go on to have a successful solo career, or, I don’t know, star in a movie, start a fashion company, something like that. But, no, nothing turned out that way at all. Even the people I considered brothers barely talk to me any more.”

“Why did things turn out this way?” Dr. Rothchild pushed.

Harry took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I had everything going for me and I…well, I royally screwed it up.”

“How?”

“I made some pretty bad choices. Showed a really bad side of me to my friends and family,” he paused. “And the public. I did a lot of things I wished I didn’t. Most people have a couple regrets. I have a long list of them.” He chuckled wryly. “If only I could go back and do it all over again.”

Dr. Rothchild shuffled around in her desk drawer before handing Harry a notepad and a pen. “Write them down.”

Harry was confused. “Write what down?”

“Your regrets. Things you wish you could have done differently. Anything that comes to mind”

“Really? The only thing this will do is open up old wounds,” Harry said nervously.

“Just do it,” she said sternly, but nicely.

“Alright, but how much time do you have?” he chuckled softly. Dr. Rothchild wasn’t amused.

Harry was scribbling bullet points down for about ten minutes when Dr. Rothchild asked him how it was going.

He scratched his forehead. “I think I’m pretty much done. Or at least I wrote down all the big ones. Some I haven’t thought about in ages.”

Dr. Rothchild flipped through the pages Harry wrote on before stopping and pointing at one. “Tell me about this one.”

Harry sat up and peered at the page. Reading his writing, he then said aloud, “Why that one?” The doctor didn’t respond, so he continued. “Well, that’s from 2007, from before I was in One Direction. I was in this band called White Eskimo with some friends and we were asked to play at the winter formal dance. It was our first ‘real gig’ and we were so excited, but one of the lads in the band got his older brother to buy us alcohol. I drank way more than I should have and got completely plastered. I was the singer and in the middle of our third song I puked on stage, in front of our whole class. Then I passed out and started convulsing,” he sighed deeply. “That night is a regret to me because it changed how everyone in school treated me. I had ruined their dance, and because of that I was no longer the popular kid.” Harry licked his lips and shivered. He wondered if someone had opened a window in the office.

The doctor was silent, tapping her temple in thought. “If you could go back to that day and do it over, what would you do differently?”

It was getting colder, and Harry pulled his sleeves down over his hands. “I...I would have made that night what it should have been: one of the best nights of the year, and an amazing first performance for White Eskimo. I--did someone open a window?”

Dr. Rothchild just looked at Harry. He stood up, wrapping his arms around himself. He was freezing now. “What’s happening?” he asked, eyes wide open.

He heard wind rushing in his ears, but the doctor didn’t seem to hear it. What was going on? The lights started flickering and the wind was getting louder and louder. The room started spinning. Harry scrunched his eyes shut.

Then it stopped. He nervously opened one eye, then the next. He was no longer in Dr. Rothchild’s homely office. He was in a locker room. Was this? No, it couldn’t be. But it was. It was Harry’s high school locker room. He looked down. He was wearing his old gym uniform. 

“Harry!” a voice called. Quickly turning around, Harry saw his old friend and White Eskimo bandmate standing next to him, wearing an identical gym uniform. 

“B-brad?” Harry squeaked.

“Mate, you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Ye-yeah, I’m fine,” Harry replied.

“Good, cause you canNOT miss tonight. It’s gonna be epic,” Brad exclaimed as he mimicked an explosion with his hands around his temples. “My brother scored us some vodka. How sweet is that? We are gonna get LOADED!”

Before Harry could say anything Brad started sprinting away. “Wait, Brad!” Harry called after him. “What year is it?”

Brad turned around, still moving away and laughed loudly. “It’s 2007, baby!”

Looking away from Brad, Harry saw a locker was open in front of him. There was a tiny mirror inside and Harry leaned forward to look at himself. 

His dark circles and tired eyes were gone. In their place were the energetic and youthful eyes of a young boy. Smooth skin, no wrinkles and a kind face. He ran his hands through the mop of curls on his head. 

He was himself, he was Harry. But not 2020 Harry. 

He was 13 year old Harry. 


	2. 2

Harry stumbled out of the locker room into the gymnasium. A handful of girls were hanging decorations on the walls while the rest of Harry’s gym class gathered at the far end around the coach.

Taking shallow breaths, Harry stumbled to look around. He pushed his hair out of his eyes, forgetting how much of it there was. 

There was literally no way this was real. He had to be dreaming. Time travel? No. This has to be some deep form of hypnosis Dr. Rothchild had done on him. That was the only reasonable explanation.

“Harry!” a voice behind him chirped. He shot his head around in fright to land on a girl in a navy blue uniform, pleated skirt and all. Her wispy blonde hair was tugged into a high pony with a navy blue headband keeping it out of her eyes. He needed a headband like that. 

Wait, he recognized her. Was that? It was his old classmate Sherry. He hadn’t seen her since they graduated high school years ago. Well, since he is apparently in the past now, his graduation hasn’t actually happened yet. 

“Sherry, is that you?” he asked with wide eyes.

She giggled. “Duh, silly. Who else would I be?”

Harry gulped. 

“I can’t wait to see you guys play tonight. It’s going to be rockin’!” Sherry said with a grin.

From across the gym, the coach blew his whistle and the class started jogging outside to run around the school’s track. 

The girls hanging decorations called Sherry away and she flashed Harry another smile as she hurried away.

Harry darted back into the locker room, which was now empty. The smell of sweat mixed with cologne only teenage boys choose to wear engulfed his senses as he approached his locker. Opening the door he hung his head against it, closed his eyes and took several deep breaths to calm his racing heart down. If this was all a dream, why did it feel so real? Why could he feel the cool metal of the locker against his sweaty forehead? Why was he back in high school seeing people like Brad and Sherry who he hadn’t spared a thought for in years? What the hell?! Okay, what was the last thing he remembered before he somehow time hopped back a whole decade?

Dr. Rothchild asked him if he could go back to when White Eskimo played at the school dance would he do anything differently? Then the room got cold and next thing he knew Brad was calling his name.

Harry pried his sweaty head off the locker and pushed his hair back. That’s it. Do it differently. Fix it and go home. Right? That had to be it.

In that moment, Harry had a new found sense of determination. He would go to winter formal, not get blasted drunk and give White Eskimo the perfect first gig they had always dreamed of. Then he would, hopefully, wake up and be back in Dr. Rothchild’s office and she would tell him this was all just a deep hypnotherapy treatment. Hopefully. Harry didn’t want to think of any alternative ways this could go. 

First things first, he needed to get out of his gym uniform. Grabbing clothes out of his locker, Harry quickly changed into the navy uniform all the students were required to wear. He couldn’t remember the last time he wore khaki shorts.

“Okay, okay,” Harry muttered to himself. “It’s fine.”

Grabbing his backpack from the locker, Harry gently closed the door and scurried out of the locker room back into the gym. It was deserted, all of the gym class now outside where they should be during class. Except Harry of course. But he didn’t need to be in class, right? While he was technically a thirteen year old, he was 26. A man. Not a boy in high school. So it didn’t matter to Harry when he slipped out the back door of the gym into the staff parking lot.

He hid behind a dumpster and watched as a teacher walked up to a car. Was it? It couldn’t be. The teacher opened the car door and sat down in the driver’s seat. 

Harry’s eyes bulged out of their sockets. As the car rumbled to life, so did Harry as he raced over to the car.

“Dr. Rothchild?” he blurted out breathlessly.

Indeed it was the doctor, not a teacher.

“Did you--did you hypnotise me? Drugs? What kind of drugs did you use? Shrooms?” His determination had now transferred into figuring out how the fuck Dr. Rothchild did this to him.

“No drugs,” she replied simply.

A beat of silence passed as Harry stared at her in confusion.

“So what,” he finally said. “Am I just supposed to accept that this is time travel, that I time travelled back to high school? Because this can’t be for real.”

The car rumbled to life as she turned the key in the ignition. “Feels pretty real to me.”

“So if this is real...how is it real? How does it work? Like...what about the butterfly effect? If I do something differently than how I did it the first time, won’t the future change? Isn’t it dangerous? What if I do something that changes who I become, changes me?”

Dr. Rothchild just sat in her car and chuckled. She freaking chuckled, Harry thought.

“Why are you laughing at this? It’s serious!” Harry asked, exasperated. “I can’t believe Mitch ever made me do this!”

Pushing a stray grey hair behind her ear, the doctor looked up at Harry. “Mitch pushed you to come see me, but you made the active choice to show up. You wanted help. This is how I give it. You said you wanted to fix things. So fix them. ‘We learn by doing. There is no other way.’ John Holt.” 

Harry internally rolled his eyes. This woman and her stupid quotes. “Learn by doing? Okay then, let’s do it.”

Dr. Rothchild nodded knowingly as she put the car in drive and swerved out of the parking lot. Harry took a deep breath and pushed his hair out of his eyes.

“Alright. All I have to do is fix the winter formal disaster. Don’t drink, stay focused, have a great gig and...apparently that will fix me somehow?”

Harry rolled his eyes for real. Out of all the moments in time Dr. Rothchild sent him to, it had to be his peak awkward teen years. But this time Harry had experience performing. He wasn’t in one of the best boy bands of all time for him to not completely ace this high school gig. He’s got this. Now all he needs to do is remember what his locker combination is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a short chapter! i wanted to get something up quickly, but more will be coming soon i promise. if you like this story at all, even in the slightest, please let me know! it gives me renewed energy seeing that people are actually enjoying my work :) sending love! tpwk


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